You see, I’m a sucker for a good donut, and this place, Jo and Doh! Donuts in Naperville has plenty, including the best maple bacon donut I’ve had to date and this donut called the Fat Elvis, a double-sized Bavarian Cream topped with peanut butter, bananas, and bacon. When they opened I hate to admit it but I stopped every day for two weeks on my way to work. It was bad, but it was so good!

I have since curbed my donut-stopping though I have to say it is super-difficult at times, but the thing that always struck me was that every time I came in they asked if I also wanted some coffee. I would always decline as I had my own in the car. Then the other day there was a story about how Chicago has 164 Starbucks stores, and if you are in the immediate Loop area there are 64 of them, which pretty much means if you want a Starbucks you are probably only a couple of blocks away from one.

As I make my own coffee, or I guess I should specify and say “latte” at home and take it to work, and as Mel asked me again if I would like a coffee with my donuts and I declined, I wondered: Do you stop for coffee on your way to work?

I’m not sure where my fascination with squirrels comes from. I suppose it has to do with growing up in Lorain where squirrels were abundant and we would feed them on our back patio, giving them an ample supply of peanuts especially when winter was upon us, even to the point when I was younger and found myself brave enough to let our neighborhood buddy take a peanut from the palm of my hand. They would look in the patio window at the bag of peanuts if we weren’t early enough to put them out for their breakfast, and in general, they were just fun to watch.

I love seeing squirrels eat a nut, commercials with talking squirrels, and this morning Brad Paisley has made me his biggest fan because as I’m watching the video for his latest song “River Bank,” a catchy, summer ditty that makes me wish I had an inner-tube and lived near a river, there he was, Twiggy, the water-skiing squirrel, helping Brad and his friends have a party in the river. The video includes a squirrel-cam so you can get close-ups of Twiggy as he cruises around, gets soaking wet, and seems to have a blast (as much as a squirrel can have a blast I guess), but in any case I was mesmerized, and along with a fun song, now I have the image of a water-skiing squirrel in my head every time I hear it, which just seems wrong as there were plenty of girls in bikinis and downing tequila shots during the song as well.

As I’m getting maybe one of the worst haircuts in my entire lifetime, and that includes some of the old “bowl” haircuts my mom used to give me, I had tons of ideas for some of these “wonders,” including wondering how long it’s been since your last, bad haircut, if you ever felt you were going to be stabbed while getting your hair cut, if you wanted to just jump out of the chair and run while getting your hair cut, and wondering if you ever had a haircut where the person cutting your hair didn’t ask you, somewhere during the process, if it looked okay, instead just saying you were done and letting you go on your merry way.

I know, what does this have to do with Fleetwood Mac and/or the Eagles?

Well, let me tell you.

The girl cutting my hair was in her twenties. I know this because she commented how her friends were all in their twenties also, and she couldn’t believe they were having kids since that meant they couldn’t go out drinking and have fun anymore. Sure, that seemed a little peculiar as I know a lot of people with kids having a ton of fun, but hey, what do I know? As I’m sitting there I hear the music in the background and for whatever reason they are using iHeart Radio and listening to KOST 103.5, because, I guess, Chicago doesn’t have any decent Adult Contemporary stations. “Hotel California” from the Eagles comes on, and the girl makes a comment how she’s a huge Fleetwood Mac fan. “Okay,” I thought, “I’ll try to converse some more since the entire ‘kids don’t let you drink anymore’ conversation has stalled.” “Oh, are you going to their concert coming to town.” Yes, Fleetwood Mac was touring again and coming to Chicago in the fall. She replied “No,” and then said “This is Fleetwood Mac, right?”

Instantly in my head was “You are a huge Fleetwood Mac fan, but, umm, you confuse them with the Eagles?”, but I nicely comment, “No, this is the Eagles,” to which she replies “Oh. My dad is a huge Eagles fan, and my mom love Fleetwood Mac,” or maybe it was the other way around, but in any case I went back to screaming in my head wondering what my hair was going to look like at the end of this because, did I mention, that she didn’t have the chair so you could see yourself in the mirror as she was cutting your hair?

I do understand she was in her twenties, and haircut wonders aside, as I was driving away with tears in my eyes wondering how I would explain this haircut to anyone and if my wife would love me anymore, I couldn’t help but wonder: Would you confuse “Hotel California” as a Fleetwood Mac song?

There I am, driving in the dude-mobile, and I spot it, stuck to the windshield of the car in front of me, this little object with a row of red lights, and I thought to myself, “Self, that’s a radar dedector. I didn’t know anyone even bought them anymore. I wonder if they’re even worth it.”

I remember the days of the Fuzzbuster, and the constantly changing technology that whenever it seemed you had the latest and greatest device to let you speed, along came a different style radar gun to thwart it, finally leading to LIDAR, using fancy laser light to detect your speed, thereby reducing the effectiveness of most radar detectors to nil. For me I’m not a speed demon, in fact I’ve been ridiculed on trips with my friends as they would kindly mention that “Grandma Moses just passed you up!”, and the one time I did get a speeding ticket it was when I was clocked by aircraft on the Ohio Turnpike where, as I was cruising with most of the traffic, we all came up on a lane reduction, thereby causing everyone to slow down, and the lovely patrolman was standing on the side of the road pointing at just about every car coming up on the zone and directing them to the side of the road to get their respective tickets.

Lately many manufacturers have incorporated things light red-light camera notification and using GPS to tell you where speed traps tend to be, but as many smart-phones have an app that does the same thing, I find it a little odd that the dude in front of me had one. Sure, it can go back a while, but I do wonder: Have you used a radar dedector? If you have, I would love to know if it has been recently, and if it helped thwart the fuzz.

Driving in the dude-mobile the other day I’m seeing a plethora of handwritten signs on the side of the road at intersection. Now, every now and then I see the signs for garage sales and the never-ending furniture stores announcing they are going out of business and liquidating all of their stock which always makes me wonder how many furniture stores there are, and why are they always going out of business. This time, though, was a garage sale kind of sign stuck in the ground, and written in giant marker, sloppily, it bragged that an investor was seeking an apprentice and that by working part time you could make $5,000 a month, while if you really put the full-time effort you could be pulling in $10,000 a month! “Holy cow!” I thought, $5,000 a month for a part-time job? Sweet! And I’d only be an apprentice? My God, what could I actually make if I were the “investor?”

The curious person in me wanted to jot down the phone number and call, but the logical person in me was skeptical, kind of like with the liquidating furniture stores, and figured I would just get roped into some scam where I would sink our life savings into some scam business where the way you make money is by convincing an “apprentice” to pay you money for the secrets to making money, all the while dispatching said “apprentice” to post signs on the side of the road.

I notice them all of the time, poorly written instructions on a garage-sale kind of sign, stuck in the side of the road, where I can be a painter, realtor, apprentice, and the like, all the while making exorbitant amounts of money for just a little bit of work, and I wonder: Would you respond to an ad posted on the side of the road? On a secondary note, it you have, I would love to hear your story of how that worked out.

The other week I’m watching the news and there is talk of a water slide that has officially broken the Guinness World Record for tallest water slide. Sure, there’s a world record for just about anything these days, so why not a water slide? Most people might probably expect the story to be at some exotic location, maybe Dubai or Kuala Lampur, you know, those places where they are building skyscrapers that touch the heavens, or maybe at some fancy Six Flags theme park, but no, instead of the United States sporting the tallest skyscraper we get to now boast the tallest water slide, and not in some huge metropolis – to ride the tallest water slide get your butt to Kansas City, Kansas (not the Missouri version), and this place called the Schlitterbahn Water Park, a chain of water parks throughout the country, but now making Kansas City famous.

The ride is called Verruckt, and clocking in at 168′ 7″, the drop is taller than The Statue of Liberty or going over Niagara Falls, and as the website lets you know, you won’t be getting a super-wedgie as this is an actual ride where you will be safely secured in a four person raft before going over a second hill a mere 50 feet.

Sure, the fact you will be in a raft might take some of the daredevil nature out of the ride, but still, it seems kind of wacky going down a water slide that would be like plunging over Niagara, though no more wacky than some of the tallest roller coasters. Me, I used to be a roller coaster kind of guy, though that has waned mostly because I haven’t been to my favorite theme part in the world, Cedar Point, in years, home to some of the best coasters and memories squiggles and of my buddy Rob doing an impression of Cornholio before we even knew who Cornholio was.

I probably won’t be making it to Schlittergahn anytime soon, but America, be proud! We have the tallest water slide, but I wonder: Would you go on a water slide taller than The Statue of Liberty?

I officially hate Mark Cuban. No, it’s not because of his somewhat arrogant attitude. No, it’s not because of some of the things he’s invested in on “Shark Tank.” No, it’s not because I’m secretly jealous. Okay, hate is a strong word, so I suppose I don’t hate him, but he’s really getting on my nerves.

Why?

Because he’s the centerpiece of a current AT&T commercial for their U-Verse service, and every time it comes on our dog goes bonkers. Why? Because it has a doorbell that sounds exactly like our doorbell, and it rings at least 1000 times in a span of 30 seconds.

In the commercial the doorbell rings, and Mark answers the door, holding his tablet with the big game on it. A basketball legend arrives, they watch the game on his table while walking to the living room, then the doorbell rings again, more basketball players show up, they watch the game on the way to the room, and the situation keeps playing out about 1000 times (or at least so it seems as our dog goes ballistic with every doorbell ring) eventually leaving Mark Cuban in his living room with way too-tall players blocking his view of his TV, so he’s relegated to watching the game on his tablet, in the easy chair at the back of the room, which he is able to to because he has U-Verse.

Our neighbors, I’m sure, are ready to call the cops because our dog is barking so much for a thirty-second span, Milo thinks he is protecting us way too often and wonders who keeps ringing our doorbell while we just ignore whomever is at the door, and I’m not blaming AT&T, nor the variety of basketball legends attached to the commercial, nope, I’m blaming Mark Cuban because, well, that’s just easier.

The underlying problem with the commercial is that it pretty much starts with a doorbell. There have been other commercial with doorbells that make Milo bonkers, but there was generally a 3 to 5 second window before the doorbell, enough time for us to dive for the remote and hit the mute button before barminess hit. Not this commercial. Pretty much it’s got about a millisecond lag from seeing Cuban on the couch to the doorbell ringing. Not enough time for muting, not enough time to change the channel, but just enough time for Milo the Protector to do his duty and decide his little fifteen pounds of white fur will be enough to protect us from the bad guys at the door.

I was hoping this was just an ad run for the NCAA tournament as that’s when it started, but it’s continuing, now, through the NBA playoffs, and I fear that now we won’t be able to watch any TV for months, thanks to Mark Cuban.

Milo used to want to attack the TV when he would see animals or other dogs on it, but now it might be Marc Cuban as a Pavlovian response of protection. No more sports to watch, no more Shark Tank, at least if we want some peace and quiet. And so, as I now hate, okay am bothered by Mark Cuban, I’m wondering: Is there a commercial that drives your pet bonkers?

April is over. Thank God! I suppose it wasn’t the worst of Aprils, but after the winter we’ve had, and most people just wanting weather to be normal, this last blast of rainy weather and storms around the country just continues a 2014 of nutty weather.

The sayings go that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, well, that little lamb has turned into one grumpy sheep during April, and if April showers bring May flowers, I’m thinking the flowers of May should be overly abundant this year.

You can blame global warming, you can blame Mother Nature, you can blame God for being pissed at the world because it is accepting gay people, or, like me, you can just attribute the weird weather to, well, we’ve only got a couple hundred years of accurate weather history so we have no idea what kind of start the year 1253 got off to, but as weather years go we’ll have stories to tell the youngins in about twenty years. Me, I’m just wondering right now: Are your May flowers blooming?

It’s coming on two months since Malaysian Flight 370 disappeared, and like many tragedies that so engulfed people’s water-cooler talk for a few weeks, unless you are directly involved you probably don’t really care any longer. You might have a minute or two down the road when someone will say something like “Did they ever find that airplane?” and remember it for a minute, but until they actually find the missing plane it’s almost time when the searching will stop, there will be an outcry from people with those missing that they shouldn’t stop, but the reality might set in that they may never find the plane, something in itself that seems hard to fathom these days.

I guess what has flabbergasted me the most, especially in this day and age when if allowed, I can use my phone to find exactly where in the world my friend might be at any given time with things like “Find my iPhone” and GSP tracking, that airplanes, especially commercial airlines, don’t have continuos tracking. Maybe this tragedy will change all of that, especially the thoughts that maybe, just maybe, had that capability been on the plane, if there were any survivors there might have been a chance to get to them in time, but alas, as the Titanic was missing for the longest time, it might be years and years until someone actually finds Malaysian Flight 370.

I suppose the answer might be “Yes,” but over the course of travel there have been many vessels lost at sea never to be found, though I wonder: Will they find Malaysian Flight 370?

I wonder if you know that THE CFO smokes and is a litterbug. I do. Okay, I’m not exactly sure it was “the” CFO, so I’ll further explain.

The other day I find myself cruising along the highway with my honey and in front of us is a car with a vanity plate. I’m always fascinated at what people put on a vanity plate, especially since it can identify you as an asshole if you are a sucky driver, or do something, well, sucky other than driving. The car was driving fine, I mean, it was a straight stretch of road, they were a little over the speed limit, and not swerving back and forth or anything crazy like that. As I got a little closer there was the license plate: “THE CFO”. Maybe not as creative as “ASSMAN” from the Seinfeld episode, but the owner of the car was obviously proud of being the CFO, whatever CFO might stand for in this situation.

Maybe a little pompous, I thought, but hey, be proud! That was until I saw two things. Yup, there was the puff of smoke coming out of the driver side window, and sure enough, like clockwork, the cigarette butt was flicked out of the car window. Instantly my thoughts of slightly pompous turned to pompous asshole.

I have to admit that I didn’t stop the car and ask the driver if they were, in fact, the CFO, so I suppose my Daily Wonder should really be “Did you know someone in The CFO’s car smokes and is a litterbug?”, but I have to assume, especially since they were the smoker in the car (which most likely smells like an ashtray even though said tray isn’t used) and the driver of the vehicle, that whomever tossed out the cigarette butt was THE CFO. I could preach about the dangers of smoking and my mom dying of lung cancer, the dangers of flicking your cigarette butt out of the car window, or how the person should have gotten a ticket, but mostly I’ll just mention any thought of “Congratulations of achieving your success” I had in the person being The CFO went right out the window with the flick of a butt.

Mind you, this post only relates to THE CFO in Illinois, so you CFO’s in other states with vanity plates, I hope you don’t fall into this category, but all it takes is one to ruin all of your reputations.

I know cars don’t always come with ashtrays nowadays, though I’m guessing their car probably had one, however, I wonder: Did you know that THE CFO smokes and is a litterbug?